


Vegas Nights

by perryvic, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Conventions, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Protective Bruce Wayne, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-27
Updated: 2005-11-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 14:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18252137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/pseuds/perryvic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: "I believe I'll have that engraved on something and give it to Master Bruce and young Master Dick, 'They meant well'," Alfred said. "Now then, where were we before we were interrupted?"Amazing. Alfred seemed completely unflustered -- the minor interrogation hadn't even made him pause, and that made Gil grin as he buckled up. "Heading over to my place, I think?""A splendid idea. They are going to be thinking the worst," Alfred said as he settled into the car and waited for Gil to start the engine and pull away.He smiled again to himself even as they set off. "I do so hate to disappoint them both."





	Vegas Nights

There was always a convention in Las Vegas. Always a tourist draw, a something that brought the oddest people into the city. Part of Gil Grissom enjoyed that, and another part of him wished that there were actually *nice* places that only the locals knew about.

There really weren't any. So there he was on his night off, in a place that was just a little off the strip, in the heart of Convention Land, that served fancy coffees and a wide array of pastries, beers and liquors. Brass liked to call it a wuss bar, but mostly intellectuals and curious tourists ended up there. And Gil. So maybe it *was* a wuss bar. Certainly the sort of clientele that filled the bar would have looked out of place in any of the normal clubs -- if normal existed in Vegas.

It was hard to imagine the distinguished gentleman sitting in his line of sight doing anything as unrestrained as *dancing*. When he went out with any of them for a night of socializing, at least.

Catherine, he understood her dancing like that. Understood and found it... really distracting. She laughed at him every time she knew that she stunned him, and he handled it. She was Just Teasing Gil. It was a pastime, and he got his tiny revenges in with insects.

Tit for tat.

Gil took his shot of rum and the two shot mocha cappuccino, and poured the rum in before he handed the shot glass and his ten to the barman. He was going to go find out that guy's story.

In a way, he collected stories of people all the time, since he was a firm believer that evidence could hand him even the stories that people didn't want to share. Even so, every now and then he wanted to sharpen his wit on a living, non-criminal subject and there was an air of cultivation about the man that appealed to him where the normal suits and ties failed to draw his attention.

His decision was based on the fact that the man had, with obvious lack of self-consciousness, ordered a pot of tea and was very carefully and precisely pouring it out for himself. It seemed like a ritual of serene calm that was sharply at odds with the fizz and crackle of Vegas. A little civility before the reality of their city, an odd bubble of older, calmer culture in the pure Americana of Vegas.

Gil paused two feet away from the man, tilted slightly and smiled as he held his large coffee mug carefully in both hands. "Is this seat taken?"

"When you sit on it, I believe it will be." The British accent was unmistakable, and so was the hint of dry humor. "I'm led to believe this is a free country, and I would welcome the company."

"Thank you." Gil moved into the chair quietly, casting a sidelong glance at the man's tea-pot and his cup of tea. They probably didn't get many people who asked for a pot of tea in that place, unless someone was trying to read the leaves. "You look like someone who's coping with Vegas for the first time."

"Indeed. Usually, I do not accompany my employer on these excursions, but Master Bruce made a flippant remark about me moldering in the manor without them so..." Alfred sipped at his tea. "I am now moldering in Vegas on a quest for a decent cup of tea. I take it from that comment that you are a Vegas native?"

Gil shook his head as he lifted his coffee cup to his lips. Master Bruce, and a manor. An old fashioned family servant? He had to be an asset if his employer dragged him to Vegas with him. "Not a native, but I've lived and worked here for the past twenty years. This place is as close to calm as you can come without heading to the desert."

"The desert sounds attractive, but I suspect there is even less chance of a good cup of tea there than there is here," Alfred replied. He offered a hand politely. "Alfred Pennyworth, once of the British Isles but for a similar period of time, a denizen of Gotham City."

"Gil Grissom. It's nice to meet you." His brain started to kick in facts about Gotham City while he took the offered hand and shook it politely, but that was all he came up with -- facts. No real people names. Catherine would be able to do that, and later on he'd probably kick himself for missing whatever important thing he knew he was missing just then. "So... would it be rude of me to guess that your employer dragged you out here from Gotham in the hope that you'd have fun the same way he does?"

"Most likely." Alfred inclined his head. "Technically there is a convention they are attending. SuperCars or some such. But to be frank, my choice of entertainment is not usually vehicle related."

"Maybe I could help you out. What... is your choice of entertainment?" He wasn't going to look at the silver wheat pattern on the tea-cup and think of Lady Heather. Gil was going to do better than that.

His question earned Gil a lift of an eyebrow even as the man responded. "I enjoy reading, and the arts -- and I have an incurable fondness for murder mysteries as my concession to the non-classics. And you?"

"I have an incurable fondness for solving the mystery of a murder," Gil countered, finding himself at ease with the man. And still smiling, but maybe that was the rum in his mocha. "And reading, and the arts. Have you been to the Guggenheim Hermitage yet?"

"This afternoon." The eyebrow hadn't completely ceased its questioning tilt. "May I ask your profession? Are you in law enforcement?"

In it, sure. That was always an odd question to answer -- it was hard to explain what the job he did *was*. "Criminalistics. I end up at a scene after the fact."

"Ah yes. I believe over here it is called CSI, yes?" Alfred twitched a slight smile. "In this instance be grateful you do not work in England. There you would be called SOCO. Which always put me in mind of some sort of children's puppet or washing detergent."

"Scenes of crime officer." Gil's eye-brows went up a little as he gave an easy shrug. "Locally, the cops call us the geek squad. But we get the job done, and I've never been mistaken for a sock puppet." Alfred seemed to know a bit, which made him wonder if he had family involved in law enforcement.

"Or if you were, it would be of the finest Argyle socks available." He was being teased. Lightly, and the other man was smiling at him. "The true heart of justice lies not in the chase or capture, but in the puzzle and pattern. Without that, any attempt is merely a hunt without context."

"You need context to prove guilt or innocence and to put someone behind bars and away from society. You say that like a veteran..." Which was a possibility, so Gil made it a question when he said it, with a slight inflection in his tone. Most men retired from law enforcement somewhere in their 50s, or graduated to desk jobs. And what you did at any given time wasn't an indicator of what you had done.

"Perhaps. Once. Before present responsibilities took precedence, though I find the subject fascinating," Alfred replied, studying the other man. "There is a tendency to become married to the job when there are such high stakes... isn't there?"

Vagueness, Gil had learned, was almost as good as a yes from one ex-law enforcement officer to another. Or something. Some branch of the field. It certainly seemed like the Gothamite was fishing, didn't it?

"That's all I'm married to. When you work nightshift... Socializing comes in rare moments."

"Like tonight," Alfred fixed more of his attention on the other man. "What brings you here tonight, Gil?"

The simple unadulterated relief of not being called Gris or Grissom by people he'd know for years or for over a decade. He smiled oddly, and then set his coffee cup down on the bar. "I don't honestly know."

"Trust the instinct to the end, though you can render no reason," Alfred quoted at him by way of an answer. He sipped his tea evidently assuming that Grissom would get the reference.

Gil wasn't sure what the other man would think, even though he handily supplied the source. "Emerson. Man has instinct for a reason, and though I'm a scientist by nature there's no point in denying it. What brought you here?" Other than an employer.

"Perhaps proof that I can be more than other people expect," Alfred replied. "But perhaps even in Las Vegas it is optimistic to expect years to shed away, I have decided to gracefully accept my fate and remain at the vanguard of propriety if only for the sake of lack of options."

Gil picked up his mug again, eyeing Alfred thoughtfully. Wasn't that why *he* was there? To socialize a little, mostly to prove to his coworkers that he was capable. So when they asked 'what did you do on your day off' he didn't have to lie or say 'I stayed home'. "Who says that you have to remain at the vanguard of propriety, Alfred?"

"It is more expectation," Alfred replied. "Perhaps you might recognize this situation. My employers are significantly younger, and I know through experience that I am regarded as a father figure, rather than merely an employee. A gift in some respects, but in others a problem. No one wants to think of their father or parent substitute as... doing anything that the younger generation do. Expectation, as I said. They want me to live more and yet... to do that I have to step out of a role where they are comfortable with my presence. Do you understand?"

"I'm a shift supervisor with a minimum of ten years on every one of my co-workers. I understand it... very well." Another sip of coffee, and he tilted the mug up a little. Almost finished. "Do you like roller coasters?"

"It has been a long time since I've been on one, but yes, I do," Alfred replied, putting down his tea cup.

"Do you want to go on one?"

Again there was that slight smile. "I believe that would be an entertaining diversion," Alfred replied still regarding him with a scrutiny that would do credit to any of the CSIs on Grissom's team.

And that was fine. A little suspicion could get a man pretty far in life. Gil smiled at the other man, and then gestured with his eyes to the door.

It looked like it was going to be a more interesting night than he'd expected. 'Wuss bars' were the best.

* * *

"May I remind you, Dick, that this was your idea?" Bruce said as he watched the younger man's rather uncontrolled reaction. "You thought that Alfred was getting 'fusty'."

"Fusty." Dick almost laughed as he looked over at Bruce, and then kicked him under the table. "Dude, that's almost not even a word. He's just out of practice, but what the hell. Look at that guy."

"I'm looking," Bruce said, arching an eyebrow as he sipped his drink. "I see nothing to object to."

Dick put his fingers over his face, then looked down into his coffee cup. "I expected Alfred to... I don't know. Socialize?"

"Who is to say that's not what they're doing?" Nevermind that it was obvious there was more going on than mere conversation. "Mm. No doubt there's some quoting going on, and opinions are being exchanged on the relative merits of various playwrights."

Dick peeked through his hands again, then gave up and sighed. "I hate watching things go bad. This was a bad idea. This..."

Was unexpected as Alfred got up and picked up his jacket to walk out with his new companion. "Well I'll..." Bruce was suddenly at alert attention. Alfred wasn't meant to do anything reckless like go off with a stranger.

"C'mon, Bruce. What if the guy's a-- I mean, the SuperHe-- Car convention. If we know, then some bad people probably know. How do we know? It's not like Alfred to just..." Dick twisted, turning around a little to watch them leave. "Jesus."

"Up." Bruce gestured as he stood. "Alfred is not spending time alone with anyone who I haven't had opportunity to run a full criminal background check on."

"Yeah, this wasn't what I'd planned on doing on our vacation." He got to his feet quickly, moving to shadow Bruce. The whole idea had sort of been that Alfred would talk, enjoy himself, and not notice that he was being watched by them.

"We'll watch. And be ready just in case something turns sour," Bruce muttered. "He should know better than to take risks like this! He doesn't do this sort of thing."

That they knew of at least.

They were soon outside, and while Dick's first instinct was to get the license plate number of whatever car they were getting into, they didn't get into a car. They were walking down the street, casual as anything.

"So... what do we do, Bruce? Get Clark...?"

"If we dragged him away from Lex right now, I'll have to put up with an eternity of sarcastic comments from Lex. He might even arrange for the next vehicle parts we get from him to be sprayed metallic purple," Bruce said darkly. "Besides, we can track one rogue butler on the loose in Las Vegas."

"So what're we going to do? We're gunna follow him all night?" Dick asked a little incredulously. "I can't believe this. The guy could be a serial killer or somethin'."

"And if he isn't? We both agreed that things have been difficult recently and Alfred needed relaxation." His expression tried to make that Dick's fault.

"So..." Dick fidgeted as they started to follow the two at a distance. "So why did you rush out of the coffee place, and why are we following them?"

Bruce could scarcely admit to a rush of protective overreaction. "Because we'll only intervene if things go wrong. Last minute rescues -- I thought I told you to attend the lecture on that?"

"It conflicted with the panel about coping with faulty equipment, okay?" Dick shoved his hands in his pockets. "Jesus. It's not like you attended the lectures you said you were going to, either."

"Amateurs," Bruce replied. He settled his arm around the younger mans shoulder even as they haphazardly trailed Alfred and the other man. "Concealment and evasion? They didn't have a clue. I could have given better lecture than that. And I certainly wasn't attending the 'Dealing with your heroic angst holistically'. It turned into a 'my past is more tragic than yours' pissing contest."

"Who told you that? Kent was there, right? 'Wooooe is me, I live in a fancy apartment with missiles on the roof with a rich man who's on magazine covers, I am the Last Of My Kind, wooooooe and doom.' "

"Even he backed away when they were serving coffee," Bruce replied smiling slowly. "But he said it was because he had to go and be in the panel of 'Embracing your Nemesis -- Making your own Alternate Universe'. No prizes for guessing why they asked him for that."

"Do I get three guesses, but the first two don't count?" Dick snorted, still keeping his eyes forwards. Weirdly, the guy walking with Alfred turned around and caught his eyes.

"We've been spotted."

"That's always an excuse to try the old 'pretend to be lip locked' hero maneuver," Bruce smirked with a reply and practically swooped on Dick's mouth even though they most likely had been spotted by the mystery man. Not that Bruce needed an excuse to do that particular move.

It really distracted Dick, and he even got as far as flailing a hand out of his pocket before he pulled back. "There's a reason why it's a classic..."

Bruce was too busy smirking to be remorseful, even though he wasn't entirely sure if the ploy had been successful or not. He ran his fingers through Dick's hair, glancing sideways again. No, they were walking on, and then turned a corner. "Uhn. Can't we just go back to the hotel room..."

"Not yet. Patience is good for you," Bruce replied in a murmur. "If you have patience, I promise I'll come with you to the Escapology for Frequently Captured Sidekicks seminar."

He laughed faintly, and nudged Bruce forwards. "You need to see that as much as I do."

"Mm. We'd better catch up." He was always at his best when on a hunt or prowl and no matter the outcome of the evening for Alfred, it looked like Bruce would certainly be in the mood for his own entertainment.

Stalking Alfred and the guy who'd picked him up in the bar.

"Oh, shit. Shit. Bruce..." Straight ahead was a sort of amusement park looking thing -- a few rides all lit up with gleaming glitzy lights. "I hate these places."

"You've faced worse." Bruce sounded unsympathetic even as he pulled Dick closer into him. "I'm having difficulty imagining Alfred at an amusement park."

"I have trouble imagining someone picking Alfred up at a bar, but hey. Welcome to the twilight zone."

"Picture a butler... going on a journey beyond sight and sound..." Bruce frowned a little. "...I thought you were joking but... a rollercoaster?"

"In the middle of the city," Dick agreed. "Do you want to lurk outside, or go in?"

"You don't want to go in, do you?" Bruce murmured, looking at his younger lover in the fair's light. "We can loiter outside."

Dick leaned up against the fence with a sigh. "Loitering here we come."

"We can work on that move some more," Bruce said softly, curling his fingers in the links of the fence either side of Dick's body and leaning closer to loosely trap him there. "No reason to waste time."

"Shouldn't I try some escapism technique?" Dick winked as he leaned forwards, arms going around Bruce's waist. He couldn't believe they were doing that.

"Later, maybe. Now is time for research on 'Forging an unbreakable bond -- hero and sidekick forever'." Bruce was looking at him with one of his rare open looks, like he couldn't believe Dick was there and with him. Neon lights flickered across them both, and no one even gave the older pair of men riding the rollercoaster a second look, because they were too busy taking in the free almost-public sex by the front entrance.

* * *

Somewhere in a hotel room across Vegas, Clark Kent suddenly stopped what he was doing -- much to the great inconvenience of Lex -- and sat up with a very puzzled expression.

"Wha...?" Lex lifted his head from the pillow, pushing himself up. "Clark?"

"I could have sworn..." Clark tilted his head in a way that all too often meant he was about to run off and save the world.

"No. No... you're not. You're going to go back to using your tongue, or I'm going to give you a bigger explosion to take care of..."

Clark blinked. "I can't believe you just said that. Anyway it wasn't like that." He narrowed his eyes. "You went to the "How To Spot And Stop Passive Superhero Harassment -- Significant Others Have A Right To Lives, Too! ' forum didn't you?"

Lex propped himself up on his elbows, looking back over his shoulder to see Clark at the end of the bed. "I damn well did. You're not running off right now."

"I wasn't going to," Clark replied plaintively. "It's just I thought... Well, I could have sworn I heard Alfred... and he was... um..."

"... just say it," Lex sighed in aggravation.

"Well he was *laughing* Lex." Clark said, as if describing an earth shattering event. "Um, and there might have been a 'Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!' too."

Lex shifted, and then finally laid down to put his face back into the pillow. "You stopped rimming me to tell me about Alfred going 'whee'. The fuck, Clark..."

"Well, have you ever heard Alfred laugh? or go 'Wheeeee?' My hearing is tuned in to the unusual, you know that." Clark defended himself, even as he shifted back over the other man.

"Whatever," Lex sighed, reaching a hand back to grab Clark's shoulder and pull him closer.

Clark chuckled a little, still intrigued by the mystery even as has he leaned back to pick up where he left off. "Now where were we? Oh yes... Superhero harassment...."

He kissed against soft smooth skin and bent his lips to the perfect ass in front of him once more.

* * *

Alfred was polite to a fault, the model of an English gentleman. But it was difficult to maintain that demeanor when not long before he had been laughing and indulging himself in the rollercoaster experience. His old addiction to adrenalin was rekindled, along with a certain directness he had possessed in his youth.

When he had found his hand covered and held by his companion, he cut through the subtlety and simply asked "Could I possibly get you some sex, sir?" in his best gentleman's gentleman tone.

Gil paused, mouth slightly open, and then laughed. He didn't question Alfred, or stop, or laugh *at* him. He squeezed Alfred's hand lightly, and then suggested, "I don't live too far from here. It's not too long a drive, or..."

"That would be most appropriate," Alfred said, smiling again. "The ride has awoken my adrenalin tempered instincts. Why don't we see where the night takes us?"

"Why don't we? After all, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas." Gil said that like it was reassuring for Alfred. "I'll drive, unless you'd rather walk..."

"Driving would get us there with more speed," Alfred said, as they walked out of the amusement park, casting a curious glance at crowd of people around the front entrance.

Gil slowed, craning his head a little. "Those look like the two men who were trailing us earlier..." They seemed to have the right idea, too.

"I should ignore them if I were you," Alfred said with long suffering amusement. "Exhibitionists, no doubt."

"Wouldn't be the oddest thing I've seen in this city." Gil moved to keep walking. "I'm sure you've seen strange things in Gotham?"

"Oh indeed," Alfred replied and then added with dry humour, "We have some particularly inventive and deranged villains. And superheroes for that matter."

"Batman, of course. I hate to say it, but I'm glad that Vegas doesn't have any. The Sheriff is all the complication in law enforcement that Las Vegas can handle."

"It is hard to imagine what sort of hero Vegas might attract," Alfred mused aloud. "As they often reflect the character of their chosen site of operations."

"So since Gotham has Batman, a night-dwelling creature who draws on the myths of gargoyles, and Metropolis has a bright and sunny futuristic style creature in Superman... Las Vegas would end up with Pimpman?"

Alfred laughed in soft appreciation. "I was thinking more along the lines of one of those who uses luck or chance as a calling card," he said, partially aware that they were being followed again.

"Crapsman," Gil suggested seriously before he realized what he's said, and laughed quietly. "See, it just doesn't work. We have to fend for ourselves, I suppose."

"Then Vegas will have to find quieter more intelligent heroes to seek out its justice," Alfred replied again. "The spandex and rubber does not a hero make."

"Quite often, it's what the public expects." Gil glanced back over his shoulder for a moment, then turned back to look at Alfred quizzically. "Usually on a given night in Vegas, you can roam the streets and never see the same face twice. But we're being followed by those two guys again."

"Mmm, I know," Alfred replied not even having to glance around. "Where is your car again? I may have to deal with them."

"You know them?" Gil guesses as he veered slightly to walk towards an SUV that was parked parallel to the street. "Because we're here."

"Mm. Indeed I do." Alfred smiled a little. "I know them well enough that the moment I open the door of this car and go to get in they will, to use the vernacular, 'freak out'." He paused a moment and with a gleam in his blue eyes suggested, "Please, open the car door, will you?"

"This is actually interesting. Would I be wrong to guess that one of them is your employer?" Gil leaned past Alfred, unlocking the passenger side door and then opening it so Alfred could get in.

"Bravo. A point to the expert CSI with the interest in rollercoasters," Alfred applauded and then rather deliberately went to sit in the car.

There was an immediate reaction. It was sort of like watching a train wreck, Gil decided. One of the two men, the younger man, lunged forwards, yelling, "Hey!" And the older man strode forward with a definite aggressive attitude, reaching not to stop the younger man but to assist him.

Alfred rolled his eyes and stood to effectively try and intercept them. Except that Gil still had his hand on the passenger side, and Alfred was effectively boxed in between that and the open door. Gil's curiosity was too piqued to just step back and let things happen that way, even if the other man seemed to know where the situation was going.

He'd probably had it happen before, and Gil could feel sympathy for both sides of it. After all, if he were getting into a car with a complete stranger, wouldn't his colleagues be worried? "Gentlemen, is there a problem here?"

Bruce moved with a sudden grace that brought him right up to the pair of them. "Not if you allow him to step away from the car *now*."

The man had a solid stance, broad shoulders, and a dark bearing that Gil most closely associated with Brass when he was pissed the fuck off. He glanced over to Alfred for a moment, eyes sympathetic before he turned back to Bruce, and the anxious looking younger man that was at his side.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Bruce stepped just a little too close into Gil Grissom's personal space. "Whatever you're planning, you can stop thinking about it right now."

"Master Bruce, this is none of your concern," Alfred said from his somewhat corralled position. "This is not necessary."

Personal space was personal for a reason, though Gil didn't flinch back. But he had confirmation of a hunch. "It's past not necessary -- I can understand being protective, but this is over the top. I haven't broken any laws, and I'm not going to. You can't really drag someone to Vegas and then expect them not to try to have fun."

"Strangely enough Gil, I suspect that is exactly what they expect," Alfred said dryly, as he looked at the pair of them. "He isn't a mad axe murderer -- I'd expect to see more calluses on his hands if he were -- so I believe I am secure in his company."

Dick went tense, and then jostled Bruce, suddenly, eyes going to... Gil's waist-band? No, his coat, but it was the same area, and Gil keenly followed their line of sight and tucked back his jacket to reveal his sidearm. No sense in hiding it if it had been spotted. "I'm the lead night field officer for the county's CSI. Or SOCO, as Alfred called it. We carry -- I'm sure they do in Gotham, too."

It was sort to fun to cut them off before they could panic.

"Anyone could say they're a cop," Bruce furrowed his brow sternly, folding his arms as if having to restrain himself from snatching the gun away.

Alfred looked at the pair of them a moment and couldn't suppress a smile. "Gil, I'd like you to meet my apparent 'mother and father'. No doubt you will be informed of my curfew and what actions will result in breakage of the knee caps."

"I see. I'm not actually a cop. I'm a forensic scientist, which is much more boring." Gil wouldn't keep a look of odd amusement off of his face as he moved a little to let Alfred strangle them if he wanted. "Would you like to look in my trunk and rifle my field kit? It's all print powder, Luminal and latex gloves, I'm afraid. Or do I need to start showing forms of identification before I can take Alfred out for the evening?"

"Don't think that I won't," Bruce growled. "Open it."

That was evidently the line that he shouldn't have crossed because the smile faded from Alfred's face. "Master Bruce, I will not tolerate you being rude to my companion," Alfred said, in a completely different tone of voice to the soft almost placatory form of speech he normally used. "You and young master Dick decided I needed to get some new experiences, and now you both object when I do? Could it perhaps be that you doubt my judgment?" The snap of steel and a voice of command suddenly emerged that was startling.

"No, we uh..." Dick shifted in the balls of his feet. "Just want you to be careful..."

"Really, if you want to check, check," Gil shrugged, shoving his hands momentarily into his coat pockets. "This is going down as one of my more interesting moments in Vegas."

Bruce and Alfred were locking eyes in a gaze that seemed to bypass the others. Eventually Bruce inclined his head slightly and Alfred's stern demeanor. It was like watching two animals vie for dominance, and Gil half-expected Bruce to roll over and show his stomach.

"I assure you I intend to be careful," Alfred said calmly. He then looked at the younger man. "I'm sure if Gil doesn't have some already we can stop and purchase some latex based prophylactics."

Dick stared, and Gil cleared his throat like it would brush away the awkward moment. "So, is that everything? It's nice to meet you, Mr...?"

"Wayne, Bruce Wayne," Bruce replied. "Our apologies. We are rather protective of Alfred..."

"Even though he can take care of himself..." Alfred supplied as Bruce seemed to falter.

"Even though he can take care of himself." Bruce added reluctantly. "We have cause for concern in that it is known that I am ..."

"...fond? sentimentally attached? Emotionally invested?"

"...burdened with the fact that Alfred holds some sway in my life that makes him a target for people wanting to get to me," Bruce finished eventually.

"Master Bruce, I am touched by your effusive declaration of attachment. Remind me to take advantage of it by asking for a raise when we get home."

"I understand a little. Except I haven't learned how to guilt my colleagues when they pull this shit on me. By the way, I'm Gilbert Grissom." He offered Bruce his hand, a shake of... friendship, acceptance, or at least a hope that the two men wouldn't hop in a car and follow after them. Wayne... No, didn't ring a bell, even if the man had said in the somewhat pompous way men did when they laid great meaning in between the letters of their name.

Somehow that lack of recognition was enough to make the tense lines of Bruce's body relax. Another glance was exchanged with Alfred and then he shook the CSI's hand. "A pleasure. I apologize for the misunderstanding. I hope you and Alfred have a good evening together."

"Thanks. You have a good night, too." And he wasn't even going to have his kit checked. Reorganizing it was a hell of a thing to do, so that was good.

"Come on Dick, I think we better call it a night," Bruce said, putting his arm around the younger man. "Alfred if there is..."

"I know. Have a good evening both of you." Even as he was saying it, his hand was resting on Grissom's arm casually.

Gil managed to turn back to Alfred with a quirked smile on his mouth. "They're leaving to run a background check on me, aren't they?"

"Indubitably," Alfred smiled back at him. "I apologize for their behavior, however well meant."

"I get it from my own department," Gil assured as he pulled his keys out of his pocket, and moved around to the driver's side. "You don't need to apologize. They meant well."

"I believe I'll have that engraved on something and give it to Master Bruce and young Master Dick, 'They meant well'," Alfred said. "Now then, where were we before we were interrupted?"

Amazing. Alfred seemed completely unflustered -- the minor interrogation hadn't even made him pause, and that made Gil grin as he buckled up. "Heading over to my place, I think?"

"A splendid idea. They are going to be thinking the worst," Alfred said as he settled into the car and waited for Gil to start the engine and pull away.

He smiled again to himself even as they set off. "I do so hate to disappoint them both."

* * *

As far as Gil saw it, no one was going to be disappointed. Even if conversation had stopped at last. There wasn't too much point in talking when you were on your back on your own mattress with another man naked and on top of you.

Out of the suit and formal clothes, Alfred was somehow someone very different. No butler had the right to have such a whipcord lean physique. The whole attitude of subservience had shed along with his clothes and any lingering myths about the British tendency to inhibition.

"In youth, man is controlled by his passions, but with age those passions are controlled by man..." Alfred murmured as he leaned down to kiss him again, with surprising depth and expertise.

The last time he'd been kissed that well, felt heat surge up in response like that, had been Lady Heather. A literal professional. Sure it was just a one-night stand, but it was a good one-night stand and he was going to make sure that they both enjoyed themselves.

"Lucky for us," Gil gasped when Alfred broke the kiss. His fingers drifted, stroking over muscles and tone, savoring the feel of a live body under his hands with no barriers between skin and skin. Just heat and muscles that shifted easily.

"It's been a while..." Alfred admitted, though his actions didn't seem to reflect that. "Somehow life has a way of making personal pleasure less important." He smoothed a hand over Gil's abdomen, his fingers surprisingly delicate and assured even as the other man brushed over old scar tissue here and there.

Just here and there. The odd weird burn-mark, on the job accidents, that one time he'd been stabbed. Gil closed his eyes for a moment, and pulled Alfred down slightly so he could kiss his shoulder, so he didn't lose his mind in thought instead of action. "People can manage without..."

"Not forever," Alfred murmured shifting against him. "But then, it is down to us to fit all that lost time into a long slow night. No heart conditions, I hope?" He arched so he could press lips over the near center of Gil's chest as if to feel the veracity of his answer.

"Not in my line of work. Mmh, that feels good." Gil's fingers skimmed over Alfred's spine, feeling vertebrae while he arched faintly.

"That is the general idea." Fingers pressed against knotted muscles. "You need to relax, to let go... let me do that for you." The skilful fingers moved slowly and very thoroughly massaging in expert movements over all the stored stress Gil had accumulated.

There was a lot of it, muscles that were imperceptibly hard from years of tension, days of it in a row. Gil kept his eyes open, looking up at Alfred, still touching him in retribution even as he let the other man ease painful tension out of his shoulders and chest. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you like to take control..."

"There are ways and ways... Those who serve often command in a silent voice. My days of shouting orders are long gone." His massage was luxurious and very proficient. Patience, that was the difference. The older man had the patience to cover all of him, though Gil knew he was aroused by the experience.

Gil didn't want to ignore the press of an erection that came and went depending on how Alfred moved or shifted, leaning right or left. It felt good, strange to think that he'd somehow contributed to an erection that hard by just laying there and relaxing. "Mm, fuck yes... This is, is very commanding."

"And you Gil?" Alfred had a subtle timbre to his voice now they were in the dim light that seemed to make it resonate from the shadows. "Is this how you like it?"

To just for once shut off his brain and move? Gil leaned up against the whip-cord body above him, kissing Alfred's neck again before he murmured, "Yes."

"Let go, I'll take care of you," Alfred replied as he massaged up the inside of Gil's legs, digging into the knots in the muscles in his thighs. "It's what I do..." That's how he got off, he didn't say, but Gil guessed. He could feel it in the way the other man was moving, the way he seemed to sink into sensual moves that made Gil relax and ache all at once.

Alfred had seemed like the type of man who liked to be expert in everything he did, though it was harder to imagine sexual technique being part of a first class Butler's training. The control he exerted was not overt or crude but subtle and effective. He knew how to touch Gil and in what way to mesmerize him into feeling no compunction in letting Alfred do whatever he wished. He didn't object when he was rolled over and the leisurely massage roamed his back and shoulders, his legs and ass with an easy expertise. By the time Alfred encouraged him to turn over again, issues of anything involving thought were disappearing rapidly.

Sex wasn't supposed to be about thought, and one-night stands, no matter how good, were about sex in the end. Sex and enjoying themselves. Gil felt loose, comfortable, warmed by the odd remark and Alfred's pleased sighs. It had to have a target goal, though, so when Gil reached a hand to stroke Alfred's hard cock (or was there a British term for it?), he wondered where he'd put the condoms.

"Getting impatient already?" Alfred replied with a pleased sound. "Mmm. You have a strong, fine touch."

"You have a strong, fine cock," Gil responded glibly. He gave it a stroke, looking up to watch Alfred's face. It was strange how sex could blur the evidence of age. The two of them there together in the dim light could have been any age at all.

"Thank you," Alfred said politely. "It's all my own work." He quirked a smile. "I was contemplating fellatio, though I admit my attention has wandered slightly for some reason..."

"I wonder why." Gil quirked an eyebrow in return, and twisted his hand so he could rub over the head with his thumb. "Do you want me to suck it?"

"Hmm, I was--" He interrupted his phrase with a gasp "I... was thinking of doing it to you before we progressed further."

"Where are we progressing?" It brought a grin to his mouth to hear that gasp.

It took a lot to shake the other mans poise so it was all the sweeter when there was an effect. "Before I go in search of your prostate with all the means I have in my possession," Alfred murmured leaning forward to kiss him again.

Gil's grip on his dick loosened a little, and he brought a hand up to rest on the back of Alfred's neck when he kissed him back. "Let me."

"Very well," Alfred said after their lips had parted. "Do so, Gil."

Gil sat up, urging Alfred back and onto his knees so it would be easier. If it wasn't comfortable, there wasn't much point in doing it, not when he was already so relaxed and ready for it.

Alfred accepted the direction with an amused grace. "You're eager," he murmured.

"It's not something I get much chance to do. Carpe Diem. Carpe... Cockum?" Gil smirked to himself, and then leaned forwards to press his lips to the swollen tip. He didn't see many uncut dicks.

"Mm. A shame because you have wonderful lips," Alfred commented, even as his hand reached for Gils hair, stroking through it sensuously.

At least he wasn't going bald, even if he had passed into various shades of grayed brown black. It was a small mercy in the grand scheme of things, good thick hair that Alfred could run his fingers through while Gil closed his eyes and gave the very tip a suck.

"Yes, just like that..." Alfred murmured appreciatively, stroking through the hair. "Mmm."

He didn't want to make Alfred come -- just wanted to get him to the edge, wanted to make him want it more, if that was possible. It was so easy to relax and start to suck and slurp in more. Like remembering how to ride a bicycle.

His efforts were certainly well received, with Alfred obviously not the type to talk dirty or to make incoherent animalistic noises. On the other hand he would use snippets of poetic phrase and words like someone using a thesaurus to do an erotic crossword. "Satin-tongued, smooth and... sensuous." He closed his eyes a moment. "An inferno of raw silken passion, yes, Gil, like that."

It was novel to hear that, and if Gil had've been in a more attentive mood, he probably would've been distracted. The rush of blood in his ears made the words warp to background noise, though, and his attention focused on the feel of the hips that his hands were holding onto, and the hardness of the cock he was doing down on. His efforts drew more purple prose from Alfred's lips even if it was in tones barely more solid than a whisper, accompanied by smooth touches and the squeeze of need in his fingers around Gil's hair.

"A sweet disorder."

Robert Herrick. Except that Gil didn't want to think about poetry when he pulled back, tonguing the underside of Alfred's cock. "Think that you're... ready enough?"

"I was ready enough when we first kissed," Alfred murmured in a rumble. His hands moved down to Gils shoulders ready to push him back. "Front or back?"

"Either." Gil's fingers went lax, ready to be prodded left or right or however Alfred wanted. He was willing either way.

Alfred pushed him gently on to his back, looming over the top of him looking down. "Do you have the necessary... supplies?"

"The drawer." Gil twisted a little, reaching an arm for the narrow drawer in the bedside stand.

"Stay." Alfred pushed the arm back down and deliberately reached across him, long limbed and flexible, pressing against Gil's stomach with the heat of his cock. He seemed adept enough at retrieving the condom and lube and was efficient in putting it on and then more teasing and slow about smoothing a generous helping of the cool gel up behind Gil's own erection and down towards sensitive puckered skin.

"Oh, fuck..." Gil's eyes closed again for a moment, and he focused a concentrated effort into spreading his legs wider. Maybe it would be enticing and maybe it wouldn't, but if it got him what he wanted, fucked, then it didn't matter.

It was easy to imagine those long elegant fingers finding their way up inside of him, slipping in one, then two, stretching and testing with more maddening thoroughness. One more and Gil was being well and truly stretched from the inside.

Three fingers were a good prelude to what was going to come, and Gil fisted his hands in the bed sheets, breathing hard as he tried to push back against the stretching touch. "That's good, that's, that's perfect."

"That's just the start," Alfred replied as he withdrew his fingers and then lithely moved to cover Gil's body with his own. His leg and hips were lifted up to present a good angle. "Are you ready?" The way he was being nudged declared he had better be.

Latex on skin, the most familiar sensation in his life -- a necessary one in this case and it made Gil want to laugh as he nodded, arms coming up to touch Alfred. It was a bit of a strain as far as positions went, but it was going to be worth it for contact like that.

It seemed that Alfred melted into his arms in slow motion because he was actually pushing into him in a slow constant pressure, waiting for him to stretch enough to find that next inch or so that he needed. It was a long endless time before he settled within the circle of Gil's arms, pushed in deep and able then to kiss and touch him as they adjusted.

Gil groaned, turning his head a little when he felt the pressure of sharp hipbones against his ass. All the way in. It'd been a *long* time, but it still felt good. Like he'd missed it and hadn't noticed it until then how good it felt to be body to body. "Uhn. That feels... impressive."

"That will be abstinence talking," Alfred breathed. "I am not as well endowed as some I know, but enough to be effective."

That British modesty and reserve seemed a little incongruous when he was up to the hilt in his lover's ass. He shifted just a little to see the reaction.

"Abstinence is wondering why I ever gave... uhn, into it." He exhaled shakily at the shift. "You can move, I'm... fine."

"Together, slow and easy," Alfred murmured beginning a motion that was smooth and easy. "Move with me, Gil, move how you want." How he wanted it was slow and easy, at least until he got used to the sensation of having a dick up his ass, well slicked and well angled. He closed his eyes, rocking slowly up against the other man as best as he could from his position.

They moved well together, accommodating each movement with a natural ease and sensitivity. It was a calmer passion than the sort of wild frenzy that most porn movies demonstrated. That didn't mean it was any less intense as they loosened up together and moved more and more, Alfred changed angles slightly, searching for the best reactions.

Gil's leg wasn't supposed to bend that way, hadn't in years, and he'd be feeling it for days. But it was worth it if he could just get in a little closer, get a little more feeling. "There, that's..." Perfect, a slow long thrust that scraped over his prostate and made his spine feel like it was going to burst.

"I take it my... search has borne fruit." Alfred took a deep breath and moved along that angle again with a little more force. "Mmhm."

"Hnnn." Gil's fingers spasmed against Alfred's back, before he moved them to clutch tighter, using the foot he had on the mattress to push up against the next downwards thrust. "Fuck, yes."

The next few thrusts started to lose their deliberate edge and cross the line to something more natural and needy even as Gil gripped Alfred hard to brace himself. "Push, Gil, harder..." Alfred managed between breaths that were becoming harder to contain the longer they kept up the exertion.

Harder, faster, yes, all of that. Gil opened his eyes again, an exertion that took more control than thinking to keep lifting his hips, to keep moving his hands.

Alfred was arching above him, pushing in him with a strength that he would never have guessed to have been under that rather formal attire. How he kept up that pace was another mystery in itself; how he managed that and to touch him, kiss him and respond to the demands of their bodies, Gil didn't know. How and why and all of the other important questions didn't come into play. He was being kissed, fucked, touched, hot skin to skin. No head games, no real point but the sensation, so Gil lost himself in the feeling. His dick rubbed against Alfred's stomach, counterpoint to every shaking thrust.

The one advantage to being a certain age was the ability to extend the experience far beyond the impatience of youth. It was a long slow fuck, that blurred time around them with each pull of sensation. Eventually though, the pace picked up, moving into the wilder, more passionate responses. Harder thrusts, deeper and less restrained reactions. It seemed formality and reserve was shed somewhere, indistinguishably in the process so naturally it seemed totally appropriate.

Just body to body, shifts and motions bringing pleasure and aching. When it finally sped up, Gil let go. He stopped trying to last and just let the sensations rage over him.

They could have been in their teens again for the wildness the both of them displayed at the last. Harsh breaths and the sounds of sex barely audible over the roaring of blood in their ears as it became obvious neither of them would be forgetting the experience in a hurry, as the sexual tension of years of restraint loosed itself in a rush to a long awaited climax.

Somehow at the last, as he was approaching his peak, Alfred managed to reach with one hand and tug on the hot erection pressing against his stomach until Gil had no choice but to come and descend into incoherence as he reached his own orgasm in a few more strokes. It was ultimately a satisfying ending, and Gil had to admit paled some of his memories into poor imitations.

After a few minutes of harsh breathing and Alfred shifting to sprawl across Gil in a more comfortable position, the older man murmured. "So, how many years of sexual tension did we just exorcise?"

Gil shifted slowly, aching, his sore leg falling to a more relaxed, stretched out position. You just weren't meant to have knees to your chest past the age of thirty five. Gil was sure of it. "Three. And that wasn't half as good as this."

"Age hath its privileges," Alfred murmured. "Who have you been holding out for, Gil?" It was a soft question but he seemed serious about wanting to know as he smoothed an elegant hand over his lover's body.

Holding out for? Gil almost wanted to laugh, but the touch of fingers over his chest, the weight of another against him kept him from doing it. It had been too long. "No one. Who have *you* been holding out for?" Probably no one. Life sometimes worked out that way. Middle aged men woke up one day and realized it was too late, and that the ring around their finger was from their job.

"No one, but that's because I lost my one and only," Alfred replied quietly. "A long time ago, however. I just wondered. You are a very attractive man Gil. I find it hard to believe there is not a whole group of people vying for your attention."

Gil closed his eyes loosely, and then shook his head. "You say that because you're blowing through town and can afford to, Alfred. It's flattering to hear, but it doesn't hold up to reality."

Alfred stroked through his hair. "You have seen the nature of the opposition I face when it comes to attempting involvement -- do you think I would go through that for someone who was not something special? I do not believe in flattery, but I do believe in the truth. And the truth is that you are a fascinating, charismatic man."

Whom his subordinates readily compared to a high-functioning autistic. Sure, they didn't mean anything by it, by anything they said, and Gil brushed it off. He'd made a lifetime of it, failing personally, quietly, smiling, trying to adjust so he couldn't fail quite that badly again, doing it anyway. He ran a hand lazily along the line of Alfred's back. Charismatic, sure. With a sore back, faint paunch, grey hair, and hearing that had only recently been returned to him.

Who knew that good sex could end up being a little depressing? "Empirical evidence would say otherwise, but... thank you for this. It's been a night to remember."

"Indeed," Alfred acknowledged. "I'll make you the best breakfast you have ever had as thanks before I return to face my over-protective employers. I certainly won't forget you."

"Mmm." It took Gil a moment, but he opened his eyes, then turned to face Alfred. "We'll leave talk like that for tomorrow. There's still a lot of hours left in the night, aren't there?"

He could see the curve of a smile in the dim light. "Many more, and an equal number of other things we could explore... after sufficient recuperation." It had the lilt of a question to it as if he didn't want to push his luck too far.

He could work three ten hour shifts back to back without thinking hard on it. Gil stretched faintly, and then turned to roll Alfred over onto his back. He was still soft, but who said you had to be ready to go again to enjoy foreplay?

"I'm recovered."

That elicited a low delighted laugh. "Mmm. You are a wonder." Alfred smiled at him and settled into their altered position. He had a feeling that this night was far from over, and he was all the more grateful for that fact.

And perhaps when he moved on, he would find a way to thank Gil Grissom in a special way.

* * *

Dick hadn't slept well.

A night with just him and Bruce and the promise of a lot of sex, and he just hadn't been able to sleep afterwards, worried sick about Alfred.

"Dick, settle down," Bruce said again, watching him pace around their rather late breakfast. "We have to be at the Convention in an hour and you're not ready."

"I just... Can't I skip out on it and go looking for Alfred?" Dick offered, tone a little tense as he settled into his chair, and picked up his bagel. "He should've been back by now."

"And I thought I could get overprotective," Bruce commented. "What's this all about, Dick?"

"What do you mean?" Dick glanced over at Bruce, who was looking almost casual and relaxed for once, which was just *wrong*.

"I mean Alfred has things under control, I've never known him to not know what he was doing," Bruce noted. "And Gil Grissom presents no danger to him."

"No?" Dick ripped a chunk of his bagel off, eyes narrowing at his mentor and lover. "Why do you say that? You didn't trust him last night..."

"And last night, I didn't have the files and background," Bruce replied putting a very thick file of information on the table and pushing it over. "Like I said, Gil Grissom is no danger and Alfred knew that when he warned us off. And... more tellingly, he had no idea who we were at all. I was watching him."

Dick dragged the file over to him, shooting Bruce a smallish glare. "I knew you didn't ever take that long in the bathroom. You could've told me you were digging this stuff up..."

"It might not have come up with anything," Bruce replied unrepentantly as he sipped his coffee. "Alfred apparently has good taste. His chosen one night stand has an excellent reputation."

"So... he really is a crime scene investigator?" Dick sank a little in his chair, munching on his bagel as he leafed through the files Bruce found. "Still. Weird. I just... never did one-night stands. I don't get it." He had Bruce, though, which made a difference.

"For which I'm profoundly grateful," Bruce said, leaning forward to brush over Dick's hair. "But we have each other and Alfred... well, it wouldn't be easy for him to have a relationship without it affecting us."

"One lonely weird guy to another?" Dick felt a little sad for phrasing it that way. "I was just... worried that something would happen to Alfred. We need him."

"I know," Bruce replied quietly. "And so does he." He paused a moment looking up towards the door. "The wanderer returns."

Fingers moved away from Dick's hair, and he sighed as he looked over to the door. "I need to figure out how you hear like that."

"Practice." Bruce watched as the door opened and Alfred, looking as impeccable as he had when they had seen him the night before, entered the room. He looked like he hadn't had quite enough sleep and to the trained eye there was a lot of evidence that he was moving a little more carefully than usual -- but most telling was the small slight smile he was sporting.

"Good morning Master Bruce, young Master Dick. Have you had breakfast or would you like me to prepare some for you?"

"Uh, no, it's okay," Dick declared, waving his piece of bagel in the air. "I'm good. I need to probably run off and get dressed, too."

"If you are to make your appointments that would be wise," Alfred said. "Unless you are asking your associates for a rapid transit." He spotted the file on the table and tilted his head at Bruce. "I take it from the fact I didn't suffer coitus-interruptus that my companion was deemed worthy."

Bruce looked totally unapologetic. "Just a precaution, Alfred."

"We worry about you," Dick added, sitting up and reaching for his coffee. "Is all. We didn't mean to hassle you last night, and we-- I'm sorry."

"I appreciate your concern young Master Dick," Alfred said with a smile. "I'm touched by your worry and I hope you were not too disturbed on my behalf."

"He fretted most of the night," Bruce said blandly.

"And you researched," Alfred added. "Well, as we are going back to Gotham tonight, you will be assured of a good night's sleep free from any distractions."

"Sure," Dick snorted, leaning back in his chair. He only had a couple of minutes to drink his coffee, and then he needed to get dressed. "So, uh. You had a good night?"

"I did indeed, Master Dick," Alfred said with surprising candor as he fetched himself a coffee as well. "Mr. Grissom is a fascinating man."

"You like him," Bruce stated, raising an eyebrow.

"A night without my presence has not dulled your perception, sir."

The coffee cup came down as Dick started to get out of his chair. "So, uh. You're not going to move away to Vegas, right?"

"I think not," Alfred replied. "I believe that Mr. Grissom holds a torch for someone, even if he is not aware of the fact." He looked thoughtful a moment before adding. "Besides, you know I cannot abide the lower regions of the manor to become afflicted with dust."

Dick managed an almost smile as he looked over at Alfred. "You know we appreciate you, Alfred, right?"

"I do, young Master Dick. I am not going anywhere." He seemed to sense it was the possibility that he wouldn't be around that seemed to disturb the younger man. "I don't think Master Bruce would let me."

"I believe you're right, Alfred." Bruce managed a smile. "Come on Dick, we'd better get going or we'll miss the moment when Clark discovers that Lex has been cheating in the casinos, just to prove he can beat their unbeatable security."

"Okay. I'll get my shoes on." Dick moved to head back to the bedroom part of their suite, leaving Bruce alone with Alfred for a moment.

Bruce looked up at the older man. "You were right, Alfred."

Alfred inclined his head. "Time has proven that on the whole I generally am, Master Bruce."

Bruce acknowledged the subtle rebuke. "Perhaps you aren't right about leaving? I've never seen you take to someone so swiftly."

"We shall remain close friends, I hope that. And we had a very pleasant time and I would not be averse to more of his company, but..." Alfred shrugged slightly. "I know I'm right. And I would not leave you and Dick."

"We don't want you to be... deprived or unhappy, Alfred, we've never wanted that," the billionaire said quietly.

"I know, Master Bruce; have no fear. I am more than content with my role and position," Alfred said with equal dignity. "I am not one to hold back my displeasure. But you and young Master Dick are my first concern."

"Think of yourself sometimes, Alfred. Promise me that," Bruce said as he got up pushing the file towards the man. He got a nod in response as Dick re-entered the room.

Dick hadn't seen or overheard too much, not on purpose, but he still eyed the folder that Alfred was just barely touching. "So... what're you going to do this afternoon?"

"A spot of research of my own," Alfred replied, picking up the file. He had a plan. What better way to say thank you than to give someone directions to a path that might just lead to happiness? "To indulge my incurable romantic side."

He gave Bruce a glance. "Okay... I'll ask more later -- we have to leave now, right?"

Bruce nodded. "Have a good day Alfred."

"I do believe I will, Master Bruce," Alfred replied as his eyes flicked over the pictures of Gil Grissom's colleagues and their write-ups. "I do believe I will."

* * *

Grissom's good mood had been the talk of the department since he had come in after his night off. Conspiracy theories abounded; Greg actually suggested they take the coffee to trace in case someone had slipped something into it, and after failing to get a straight answer out of Gil, Catherine was starting to consider that this might not be a bad idea. Instead of bouncing the latest accident, suicide and murder theories around, their little group headed to the break room to essentially gossip.

"I tell you what-- we could try and get him to do one of those experiments that he uses us for and get a sample from him and run that through trace... how about it?"

"For the last time, Greg, you're not stealing personal fluids from Grissom," Catherine said again. "I'm beginning to think you've got some sort of fetish about it."

Nick shook his head as he shook out a packet of Splenda. "C'mon, ya'll. This isn't somethin' we should be talkin' about. It's not any of our business, if he's... been more upbeat than usual. He'll tell us when and if we need to know."

"Nick, Nick, come on, man, this is Grissom we're talking about." Greg sprawled in one of the chairs. "Or... and don't call me crazy before you've heard me out."

"Greg, you've never been anything *but* crazy."

"The evidence doesn't lie right? So, like Sherlock Holmes said, when everything else is eliminated..." Greg paused dramatically. "I reckon he got laid."

Catherine folded her arms over her chest. "Greg, isn't there something for you to be processing right now?"

"Come on, you know you thought of it!" Greg said, and then looked around in the lengthy pause with a slightly hopeful look. "Haven't you?"

Catherine looked away a little. "Look, Gil's quite about his private life. Just drop it."

"See?" Nick nodded as he stirred his coffee. "Anyway, Sara's been in a mood, so it ain't her."

"Two words." Greg said, animated by the lack of outright rejection to the suggestion. "Lady Heather. They had that instant, you know, like zing! Sparks, sexual tension and stuff!" Greg was evidently too fond of his theory to let it go.

"There was 'zing' alright," Catherine muttered, rolling her eyes. "Greg, he brought her in for questioning. Just... drop it, or I'll *find* something for you to be processing."

Greg grinned again and was about to ignore the edict when a one of the receptionists knocked on the break room door.

"Hi, got a delivery that looks like it's for Nick? The writing's a bit... well, it looks like C/O Nick anyway," she said producing a rather exotic boxed set of orchids. "Very classy."

"It -- wow." Nick stepped forwards, frowning. "Shit. Is there a note? Any idea who sent it?

"Yeah, it's tucked in under the ribbon there," she pointed out and then turned to leave. "Enjoy."

"Wow, Nicky you dark, dark horse you... why didn't you tell me you were dating a rich chick?" Greg asked leaning to look over his shoulder.

"Because I didn't know?" Nick shot Greg a confused glare, and then shrugged over at Catherine. "This is weird, 'cause I'm *not* dating anyone..." He moved to sit it on the counter, digging under the ribbon to get the note.

"Take it carefully," Catherine warned, not wanting to spell it out but Nick had been the one to have a stalker and it was easy to see why.

The note slid out of the envelope and immaculately written note slid out.

"My utmost gratitude for such a wonderful evening, night and morning. You were a wonderful companion, and a most considerate and passionate lover. It will be a night fondly remembered.

For those memories Gil, I will forgive the fact you called me 'Nick'. Nick is a very lucky man.

Please feel free to stay in touch.

Kindest regards and best wishes,

Alfred" 

"Uh..." Nick's eyes slid over the letter once, twice, and then a third time before he looked up at Catherine and Greg with a deeply confused expression. "Uh, I don't think this was actually for me..."

"Catherine then?" Greg suggested. "What is it illegible or something? Hey, I can decipher Doc Robbin's scrawl let me have a look..." The young CSI trainee leaned over Nick's shoulder.

Nick jerked away, putting the letter out of Greg's reach. "Nu-uh! I shouldn't have read it, and you're damn well not gunna. It's... for Grissom." His expression shifted curiously as he said that.

"Our Grissom? Like, not his... strange and mysterious twin?" Greg asked and then grinned. "I *so* rock! He did get laid!"

That seemed to be enough to distract Greg if only for a moment, before he paused and was about to start on an in depth investigation into who had sent the flowers when Catherine stood and literally began steering him out of the way. "Autopsy, Greg, remember? You know that they don't like us being late."

"Not like they aren't dead already," Greg quipped. "Find out more, Nick, inquiring minds and all that... hey!" He was tugged at by Catherine.

"Autopsy, Greg. Before it's yours."

"I'm going, I'm going!" He put his hands up in surrender, but from the look he gave Nick, he'd be back when he had free time.

Nick put the lid back on the box, wavering between dropping it off in Grissom's office, or lingering and giving it to him himself.

Perhaps he could sneak in and maybe Grissom would never know that he had seen it, and just assume that it had been delivered to his office by the girls from the front desk. On the other hand, there was Greg and his inability to leave well enough alone.

And he wasn't entirely sure what he was thinking or feeling about that mention of his name in the note. The implications were _really_ obvious.

Grissom calling his name out during sex? It...

Nick wasn't sure what to think, and that was the problem. Plus, the flowers had been addressed to him, which was just *weird*.

He'd half think it was an elaborate joke only none of the others had the sort of money free to send orchids like that on a whim. It did answer a long standing question of whether Grissom was hetero, bi or just a-sexual.

Apparently a-sexual was off the list now, and so was strictly hetero, since Alfred wasn't exactly a female name and Nick knew what his gender was. It was just... strange to think about. It made him hesitate when he neared Grissom's office door.

He thought he'd forced himself to get over the bad case of hero-worship he knew he had had for the older man. He'd been quietly aware of it, and sure that if someone like Greg couldn't get a rise from the man with his apparently insatiable flirting, then there was no likelihood on earth that those ideas were a possibility. Now this seemed to say they were more than just a possibility, and he couldn't see anyone inside. If he was quick, he wouldn't have to worry. Just open the glass doors, walk in, set the package down, walk out. Bam, boom, done. Nick pulled the door open and walked determinedly towards Grissom's desk.

He was trying to pretend it was an unwieldy piece of evidence or something. He'd walked in here with stranger in the past; none of them made him so wound up that he jumped like he did when he heard someone clear their throat close to him.

"Nick. Do you have something for me?" Grissom sounded sharply curious, and where had he come from?

"These... were delivered. I guess there was a mix up because they came to me..." Nick cleared his throat. "But they're for you." He offered them over wondering if he could flee the room before Grissom read the note.

And then what, avoid him all damn day? Was it really viable when Grissom was gunna be handing out assignments? "Was there a note...?"

"Uh, yeah, just there, under the ribbon," Nick felt himself flush a little as he realized it was going to be obvious that someone had opened it. Way obvious, since Gil set the box down and slipped the lid off. He studied the flowers for a moment, then plucked the note free.

Maybe it was time to run. He felt bad that Grissom would think they had deliberately poked into it, though, and he didn't like to think of him as thinking that.

"I uh, they delivered it to me so I... opened the note, thinkin' it was for me." His usual laid back drawl was a little tight with anxiety. "I'll be on my way to the lab. Sorry."

Gil was already glancing at it, which made it a little late to slip out. Gil read fast, always had. "Nick, wait..."

He should have just kept going but he hovered near the door. "I've got some... results to pick up..." Which was lame -- they always had results to pick up.

Gil was holding the note, staring back at Nick, at a loss to explain himself but trying. Nick just gave a nervous sort of impression of his normal slow easy smile. "It's okay. It's... kinda flattering. I'll go get those results."

"Nicky, I..." How could he explain it, really? Gil stood there, holding the note. It said it all. And Nick had read it.

"Hey, I know...you didn't mean it right?" Nick gave another smile firmly on the track of pretending it hadn't happened for now. "I'll just get the results and pick up another case..." Gil still looked like he'd been kicked in the teeth, and that made Nick decide to get out of dodge. There wasn't any telling what Gil was thinking, or trying to say.

"... but, I did."

Nick opened his mouth to say something in response and nothing came out. His vocal chords had temporarily gone on strike even if his blush response was working overtime. "I...uh... Can we talk about this after work?"

He got a jerky nod out of Gil while he stuffed the note into his pocket. "I'm sorry about this, Nick. If..." The box of flowers was closed, and he picked up a folder. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable on the job."

Nick tilted his head slightly and gave his small smile. "We've seen worse. I'll catch you after the shift okay?" Without waiting for an answer, this time he really did make his escape. At least it gave him good incentive to keep quiet at Greg's next grilling session.

Behind him, Gil hung back in his office. There wasn't anything for him to do but hide long enough for Nick to have gotten away. He shifted the white cardboard lid off of the box, peering at the orchids with confusion written on his face.

Why had Alfred had it addressed to *Nick*?

The flowers were beautiful, and they would fit his almost minimalist style well but...

It was his habit of looking in the hidden places that made him see the edge of a very thin envelope, tucked in the edging of the box.

Between the liner and the box itself. Gil didn't think before he was reaching between the two layers of papery cardboard with a pair of tweezers to pull it free.

When he opened it, almost half expecting something sinister, all that was in it was a piece of card with 'Trust me' handwritten on it, and a pair of tickets. Not just any tickets, but a prime pair for one sold out show in Vegas.

Two side by side third row seats to Andrea Bocelli. Gil studied them, then the note in Alfred's handwriting, before he slipped all three into his wallet.

It was familiar how all of the pieces fell together in his mind, the sudden feeling that it would work, and the knowledge that he did. He did trust Alfred, even if he still felt like he hardly knew the other man.

He could at least wait until the end of shift and see how Nick reacted.

* * *

Nick was eating an apple and talking with Warrick. Warrick punched his arm, and Gil decided to linger outside of the break room a little while longer. He hadn't seen Nick all shift after that note, so it was good to see that he was at ease enough to horseplay around with Warrick. And probably bet on a case, but as their supervisor, he didn't really want to know that.

He could turn a blind eye to healthy competition, but if things got too close to the mark, he'd have to rein them in.

It was an excuse as much as anything. In between his case load and paperwork, he'd had plenty of time to think about things. Why Alfred might have done this. Things that, on closer inspection seemed carefully and cleverly designed. It hadn't been a joke. Though his one night stand had a dry wit and a sharp sense of humor, he wasn't the type to play practical jokes.

His mind drifted back to the murmured conversations in the middle of the night about who he was holding out for. He'd meant it when he said there was no one, but had it actually been the truth?

As far as he'd been aware of, it had been the truth, but he wasn't one who liked digging around internally. He had too many moments of internalization that ended up with understanding the motives of murderers. It wasn't sympathy, but it was a deep 'I know why' feeling that unsettled him.

It was enough to make any sane man stop lifting the shades off of his psyche. And enough to make Gil wonder if he actually had called Alfred Nick at some point. And why.

He didn't remember doing that, but the night had blurred into a jumbled mixture of recollections of passion. Perhaps it was a case that someone outside the situation could look and see, or hear something that someone in it could not.

That was his life, that was what he did, and he saw time and time again. Being there in the heart of it made you blind to possibilities that were evident to the outsider. And he was usually the outsider standing there pointing out that yes, the 'faithful' husband was having an affair, or the quiet pleasant couple down the street were mass murderers. As revelations went, the possibility that he might like Nick _that_ way was reasonably harmless. But he didn't want to make things awkward.

He had two stunningly good tickets in hand, and the will to walk in there and just... ask. If Nick said no, he could console himself by going alone and putting his coat in the other seat. Or Catherine. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. If Nick said no, Gil was professional. He'd roll with it, and the topic would simply never come up again.

His thoughts were disrupted by Warrick coming out of the room and saying, "Hey, Gris," as he hurried past with a smile.

This was his opportunity. Nick was actually alone. if he said no, then it wouldn't be all over the department, and they would just never speak of it again. He could say yes...

Gil stepped forwards, one foot in front of the other; as soon as he stepped in, Nick was looking at him, and he felt bad for putting Nick in that position.

"Nick--"

"Gr- uh, Gil," Nick interrupted him, which was such an unusual thing for him to do that it actually worked. He did stop and listen. "I've been thinking about the note and... what you said and..." He paused long enough to take a deep breath and muster one of his gentle slow smiles. "I was thinking... If it's not awkward or anything, do you want to go out sometime?"

Obviously Nick didn't feel too badly about being put in that position. In fact, from the look on his face as he waited -- hopeful and with that hint of shyness that usually lured in all comers like bees to honey -- he seemed to be more than happy about the idea that they could spend time together.

Gil smiled back, the expression easy as he felt stress rush away. Anticipation, warmth, interest and a lightness of something else there in his life. He looked down at the two tickets in his hand, his interest clear in his eyes and his voice. Now everything was easy and out in the open and the guesswork was banished with a few well chosen words and the deviousness of an English Butler from Gotham.

There was only one thing left to do. Yes or No.

"How does Sunday sound?"


End file.
